


Brood Mother

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Impregnation, Maxine’s Award Winning Freckles, Parasite!Billy, Parasitic Copulation, Premature Ejaculation, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ‘Billy hasn’t been himself lately.’ That’s what Maxine told herself. ‘Billy’s just angry.’ That’s something she’s known for years. ‘Billy doesn’t love me.’ That is unquestionable in her mind.She’s wrong.Billy is infatuated.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	Brood Mother

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never written Stranger Things (or anything f/m) before so this was pretty fun. Somewhat of a gift for a friend. Unbeta’d bc editing is for pussies.

The influence of a parasite would be so minute, and yet stronger than anything, wouldn’t it? It would be something much larger beneath the surface causing those waves to lap against eroding rocks, it would cause the cliff to fall. 

Billy fell when his irises swam with foreign bodies and the whites of his eyes began to fill with darkness. 

He was never a man. Nothing more than a scared little boy in an adult’s body, something stunted and abased that circumstances never allowed to develop past the age of nine. Yet now he’s filled out and curvaceous enough, posturing for the ladies like the object he presents himself as. Father doesn’t like a son who doesn’t mind his _fucking_ manners anymore than a woman appreciates a man who doesn’t express his perceived worth beyond anything that it _really_ is. Billy knows because there was a time when he wasn't everyone’s favorite. Billy knows because Billy’s been compensating for that time since he figured he could get away with it. 

What’s grown from that is a man willing to let himself be a vector for something quite a many levels above his head. He was once a child trying to comprehend the chaos of a man who took his mother away and now he’s lower than that, even, and what’s come of it is a loss of self. Though most importantly - a loss of will to fight back against intrusion, against urges. 

He’s got friends inside of him. 

Wriggling, writhing, _hungry_ friends that fill his head with tingly sensations, his body with foreign feels and knee-jerk urges. They’re so conniving, slinking beneath the surface, tickling that evident dermal layer just enough to poke through and erode the flesh for a moment, pucker a vein or bolster a muscle - anything to be noticed by the host enough to get the adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, bloodstream carrying its alien bodies further and further where they shouldn’t quite go. 

It’s a system that’s so self-serving, using a body as a plaything without even possessing a consciousness high enough to comprehend what those words mean. It _teases_ its host like a game of stationary cat-and-mouse because it somehow _knows_ \- either by nature or inadvertent conditioning - that it works, that it’s something that can be gotten away with. It’s toyed for such pleasure yet… astonishingly serving success in its efforts to spread. 

It particularly scored a jackpot when it spread to the brain. 

That’s where it would go initially, one would assume, but no. It swam through the muscles and made homage in every internal crevice it could. Hollowed out those pesky tonsil calcifications and created black stones in the divots. It polished the internal wiring in Billy’s body already so specially curated for build and physique, making it a weapon. Something irresistible to the ladies and therefore perfection as far as hosts go. Because breeding demands posturing, and no male ever found a mate to spread his seed without dazzling a female. 

And that was when it traveled to the brain. 

Billy’s is not a place in which one - parasite and man alike - would want to be. Memories aside, it’s a heated spot oozing hormones like no one else’s. The juicy glands around his neck… the folds of his cerebral cortex… the spinal cord that trails into columns of leveled strength, muscle mounted on muscle from head to toe…. such a perfect specimen. All that mattered was to _spread_ that perfection where it was needed, and the _parts_ of it that were needed. The parasite found itself quickly enamoured with one core function spurred on by the dismal human condition that it felt immediately obligated to exploit, as much as exploitation is an arbitrary concept where it’s concerned. It found a use for Billy’s favorite coping mechanism. It found sex, and most importantly stemming off of that, it found _breeding_. 

  
A child’s screams are locked away behind an impenetrable wall of skewered perception. They’re loud one moment and quiet the next, a sporadic tribute to primal fear that would make anyone’s ears ring with the sheer volume they give. 

To Billy - in this moment - they’re perfect. 

His hands are wrapped around this tanned throat so pencil-thin, dusted with freckles from that California sun. It’s hot and dreamy, freshly pumped full of blood from screaming like any kid with a red face likely is. He’s blanching his knuckles just trying to encase it’s width. It’s perfect, fillable, desirable width— 

“Billy—“ she manages a breath while he considers, for a brief moment, that she’s too pretty to touch, “S-Stop.” 

Her fear is panicked and sweet. Billy could taste her viability hours before she’d even gotten home just by wandering around the house. Her bedroom was an irresistible _hotbox_ full of hormonal scents, the kinds that only a teenager exudes during that _special time._ Billy’s extra set of minds and wants and feels told him to dig through it all - her clothes, her bedsheets, her magazines and comics, anything that had that air of _Maxine_ about it - for her pheromones. The parasite gave him an edge, something he couldn’t shake. A type of jitter that made his nose tingle with a sweet and salty scent of someone else’s sex that he’d never known himself to want, much less _crave_ before. It screamed to him that copulation was survival the same way that abduction was a type of feeding for the greater one, the one that Billy wasn’t meant to serve. It didn’t take long for him to figure out just what he had to do. 

Her skin is dotted with little sun spots he’s always _hated_. She’s got a visage so tanned and filled-out, slim where it matters but pudgy enough to make you dig for the real prize. Thighs doughy and bursting with baby fat cooked in the sun until it resembled a woman’s fake tan - the kind that Billy’s always loathed but something that’s made him pavlov’s creature of ridicule. Something that reminds him of quickies with estranged mothers behind the mall so strongly that he can’t help but let it arouse him. 

He leans in close and tries to lick a few off when the newly-innate drive for _more, more, more_ has him pinning her down and nearly snapping that pencil neck of hers to sate his craving. 

_Billy hasn’t been himself lately_. That’s what Maxine told herself. _Billy’s just angry._ That’s something she’s known for years. _Billy doesn’t love me._ That is unquestionable in her mind. 

She is wrong. 

Billy is _infatuated_. 

He lessens his grip around her throat when his new senses curated for amplified sensation warn him of the fact that there’s no air passing through her trachea. It vibrates like a bell after it’s been rung, slow with the beat of her heart but so quiet now that it’s thrumming rapidly in a panic for breath. There’s no air and he wants to _feel_ it pass through her - to feel her breathe is to feel her future, and his too. 

He pulls back completely and slinks down to straddle her hips. She gasps and clutches the spots where his hands had violated - everything below her jaw down to her clavicle and the heated wet spot along her shoulder where his tongue thought it could chart out a pattern between the freckles. 

Her eyes are dinner plate-wide, the whiteness turning red and puffy from reflexive tears. She coughs. “What the— the hell, Billy—“

It takes a slap to make him feel like he’s preserved her innocence. He’s always gotten onto her about that foul mouth and attitude too big for her age, but right now it feels more than brotherly obligation. It’s a _duty_. 

“Max,” He grazes a knuckle over her rounded cheekbone, feeling the fresh heat from his slap, and his pupils are blown wide. Max doesn’t miss it either. “You’re not supposed to talk back to me.” It’s not harassing or anything vaguely resembling a threat, nor passing scold to smother that snappy teenage flame he’s always sought to extinguish within her. It’s informative and calm, almost _sweet_. 

Her lip jerks at one corner as if to say something, but shock has her little heart rabbit-kicking against her chest. Billy’s eyes are far off and doting and his gaze is beyond anything she’s ever seen before. He looks _obsessed_. And with her usefulness to him, he is. 

His eyes flick down to her chest and the budding breasts that her arms - pressed together to mend the red swelling around her throat - are currently pushing outward. They’re framing what’s meant for _him_ and his new selves, and no one else. That which is meant to feed what _he_ spreads. 

She frantically shakes her head with that trademark quivering lip when she recognizes that urge in his eyes. “No, Billy please—“ 

Her striped polo - probably belonging to some boy Billy’s never liked but who’s name has long faded into irrelevancy - is like raw cotton the way it frays beneath his grip. He pulls and it tears, and Max is thrown into fight-or-flight, surprisingly only _just_ now. 

“Stop!” Is all she pleads. It ranges from an initial scream when his hands push hers down hard enough that they both hear distinct ‘snaps’, to a broken, whispered mantra as his lips draw back into an accomplished grin and his fingers roll the perky buds of her nipples. New hormones have made them both sensitive it would seem. “Please… stop.” She begs meekly, as he swats her arms away once again when they bat against his chest so flimsily. Her hands aren’t quite functional from the wrist down but adrenaline will ensure that she won’t feel _that_ quite yet, at least not until Billy’s done with her. 

He feels a few memories conveniently begin to resurface. It springs forth more urges that aren’t him but so indistinguishable from his own thoughts. He leans down and mimics what he’s done to _real_ women millions of times before, and buries his face in those mounds _just_ beginning to fill out. Mrs. Wheeler’s were enough to _really_ get lost in but these are barely a handful. Max squeaks when his tongue finds its way to more of those dark spots. The little blemishes teetering along tan lines just around the breastbone from kiddie bikinis, to the curving pockets of baby fat on her stomach he can practically _taste_. He laps it up as if her fearful, sickly sweat is a sweet nectar. He takes a nipple in his mouth and it’s almost without intention that he bites down, just enough to roll the mounds between his teeth and have her desperately trying to beg for him to stop. 

Her leg manages to wriggle out from underneath him and she plants a hard knee into his groin from below - a money shot, were it anyone else. Billy just sharply inhales. He looks up at her from between her breasts and reels back a fist, planting a bone-hard punch to the side of her temple delicately-placed enough that he could feel her blood pumping through the little soft spot. She falls limp for a mere moment and Billy wastes no time withdrawing down to where his nose has been _begging_ him to go for hours now. 

Max’s knees press together lazily in a half-conscious effort to preserve what’s never been touched, something sanctified and precious and entirely Billy’s right now. He laughs, not so maniacle but pitying, pushing them apart hard enough that they’re pinned, the ligaments nearly torn. “You know better…” Billy whispers softly against her thigh, “than to disobey me, Max” 

Her head lolls back to forward-facing, eyes half-lidded, and when she sees him between her legs she sucks in a hard breath. 

Billy could somehow feel, as if through fear-centered contact high, every muscle of hers clench. It drives him _crazy_. 

“Maxine.” He says her name like a slur, as if that’s all she is beyond her seemingly innocent appearance of a child - an _insult_. “You’re a _real_ piece of work, you know that?” He snakes a hand up her shorts and blindly feels for what he wants. His hands are charting out territory that’s _his_ , his tongue abasing what’s _his_ , and her belly swelling with a horrified panic that he wants to be caused by him and him _alone_. Her back arches when he presses a thumb against that distinct little nub hidden behind thin panties, and Billy laughs. 

He feels disgusted and pleased at the same time, and it’s not entirely the parasite’s influence. It’s disgust at knowing she’s felt this before and possession at hating how he wishes it was _him_ that made her feel it, and hatred that she never gave it to him willingly. He wants to insult her. She acts like a whore with that kid, runs around with little brats no different than her and then she tries to act coy when he reclaims what’s his? 

The parasite has no claim to stake in verbal insults. What comes out of his mouth as he tears her shorts off with a sneer is Billy, just the version of him that was never meant to be empowered. 

“Do you think it’s okay to fight me like this? After everything I’ve done for you - after all the times I kept you safe?” Her fingers - broken as they are - manage to hook around the fabric of her shorts even as he yanks the waistband downward. Tears well up in her eyes as she shakes her head, wet lips and reddened cheeks lined with shaky fear. 

“No, Billy. I don’t— I don’t think that.” She squeaks, hoping to appeal to his nature. “I promise.” Her voice almost breaks. It comes out garbled and insincere and Billy _hates_ it. 

“Shut the hell up!” He slaps her hands away and stifles that urge to squeal back at him like a cornered pig by crashing his fists down on her chest - square above the lungs and shattering to the diaphragm, but far enough from the belly that her precious anatomy isn’t harmed. When her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping foreign air, Billy retreats back downward. 

He sucks the sweetness of her sweat out of the lining of her hips, where jutting bone is almost completely encased by feminine fat, the kind that sheds after puberty or redistributes. Right now, it’s still pudgy enough for his teeth to snag and pull, fat enough that he can feel those identifiable pockets _just_ beneath the surface. 

It crosses his mind - _his_ mind, funnily enough, as opposed to the parasite’s - to ask her if that kid ever did this. If she’s ever offered her body up because one’s the same as the rest and body counts don’t matter to a young girl. Billy’s quickly fueled by that enraging thought alone and he’s ripping her panties off. 

She hardly makes an effort to close her legs or cover herself - truthfully out of a delirium induced by his assaults more than anything, although he can’t see that - and Billy only views that as further proof of how giving she’s been. To the boys in her little band of misfits and probably every other guy in town. 

Billy’s never given a shit which woman does what with her body, but Maxine… _oh, Maxine. “_ You should be ashamed of yourself, Max.” He shakes his head as he slides a thumb through astonishingly _dry_ folds, massaging the cluster of nerves at its top. Max chokes on her own saliva trying not to scream. “No one else can protect you the way I do. No one else can make you feel this way. You know that, right?” 

Max was streaming tears and suppressed cries for help but now she’s utterly uncomposed. The flimsy little begs she’s been spewing under her breath for Billy to stop, to get off and quit touching her _there_ , are muted as she forgets to breathe, breathlessly pleading for him to just _stop this_. Her eyes are pressed shut and her face is a perfect picture of tortured terror and agony. 

To Billy, though, it’s a lie. She’s covering up how much she loves it. He can tell when he presses a thumb carelessly beyond the heated entrance of her hole, probing that heat he can’t _wait_ to fill. 

“You're mine, max.” It comes quick and volatile and he spits it like it’s all he’ll ever need to say. “Say that you understand that you’re _mine_.” When she doesn’t immediately answer, instead twisting around as if to try and crawl on her stomach away from Billy, he growls and pulls her hips back against his. He sticks a finger back into her hole and twists and pries and marvels in how she actually screams. 

She fits him like a glove. His thumb is fatter than her hole is wide and his skin is dry and chafing against her walls, and her face is something he’s never seen before - pure agony when he withdraws and promptly thrusts back in - but she feels good and it’s so foreign but intoxicating almost immediately. It’s a last-ditch effort to expunge from her the will to fight back. To give in and accept that he’s already won. 

Something in the way she goes completely limp, with eyes tracking his own as they peer down at her, sneering, tells him that she’s already accepted what they know to be true, that Billy does own her, and that he will come out on top. Her half-lidded gaze shifts to his broad shoulders and follows the lines of bulging muscle slicked with a sheen of sweat containing something dark and unidentifiable - almost appearing as dirt - down to his hands and fingers, and her thudding little heart thrums just a little faster when she sees where his hands pull at the drawstrings of his basketball shorts. 

‘ _Hawkins high_ ’ is pasted over his left thigh, right where he’s pulling one of her legs over and around, hooking her against him while his hands quickly fish himself out of his shorts. 

Max won’t dare to look away even for a second. Out of some sick, terrified obligation to watch her impending doom as it nears ever closer, she gasps and tries to push off of him and away, crawl if she needs to, grip the floor beneath her until her nails chip - yet never look away. Billy sees her eyes blow wide with fear and realization as if it hasn’t been obvious where this was going the second he pulls himself into view. 

He grins down at her, lifting his chin and peering along the bridge of his nose. His lip snags between his teeth as he talks down to her like a toy. “Like what you see?” He purrs. He’s asked a million women the exact same question and yet none of their speechlessness or emphatic nods ever drove him up the wall this way. It’s never been silence and panic that made his cock hot and swelling before he could even get it out of his pants, not until now. 

She would hate herself for it if she was more coherent and willing to fight against the influence of panic-induced delirium, but she can’t help but to fixate on his cock and god, it’s… it’s not supposed to look like _that_ — she’s _sure_ of it. 

What he grips is physically steaming. From his hips and belly button down the blond dusting of a treasure trail so faint that you can hardly see it, he’s unnaturally bulging. Every vein close enough to the surface to feel pumping with warm blood is distended and unsightly, swimming with some blackened ooze that doesn’t befit a human body, and where his fingers grip tightly around the base of his cock, there’s a strangulated build-up just behind the pads of his fingers, as if he’s actually managing to stifle its travel through mere external force. 

He hunches over with pleasure and nearly drools on her. As horrified and panicked as Max is, _Billy_ is the one struggling to stay conscious and coherent as he shakes with anticipation. He’s so _excited_ and it feels like his own quiet little accomplishment that he’s come this far and built up the perfect opportunity to breed. He wants to do good, to serve his new selves and that massive being that’s already like a _father_ to him. He wants to give him lineage. He wants to breed Maxine and make more of the one he serves and he wants to feel himself pump her full of _their_ future. He wants to make them cogs in the system of growth. He _needs_ to feel her around him. 

This is impending fatherhood as much as it is a ruining, so to speak, for Max. He’s chasing a future for himself and his selves and she’ll play party to that whether she wants to or not, because it’s befitting of scum like her. Billy is truly the best and most considerate she’ll ever get. 

He takes a fistful of chubby thigh and presses down enough to keep her spread, and with a grunt, he’s lined up and pressing inward. Max is already screaming but the moment he’s managed just to get the head of his cock inside, she’s gone hoarse and her body’s begun its own routine of dissociative self-removal. She looks away and bites clear through her tongue on the first thrust inward. She looks to be shaking her head, sewing her eyes shut tight and pushing broken hands against his hips as if it’ll do anything. She’s in pure agony. 

Billy though, is more or less in a daze. He hadn’t thought she’d be this tight but the way she sucks him in… he can’t help but assume— no, he _knows_ she’s done this before. Even when crimson mingles with a blackened ooze as it trickles out of her hole, coating his cock on every thrust, he chooses to see it as more commemorative of their bonding as opposed to a sign that she simply isn’t ready for this. She’s taken dick before and Billy would bet anyone’s ass on it, she’s just never taken _Billy’s_ dick. 

He grips the underside of her pudgy thighs with both hands in a vise-like grip and snaps his hips forward, enough force behind his movements that he’s gradually scooting her across the floor without even trying. It takes very little time for him to reach the realization that he’s close, and then - _euphoria_. 

He presses a hand against her bare belly and _feels_ it all swim inside of her with an absolute awe-stricken expression. His cock is pulsating through his orgasm, still shoved deep as it empties an unholy concoction of something half-Billy and half of Billy’s counterparts. He hadn’t thought he’d finish that quick. He wanted to drag it out, prolong it as much as he could because he’s been waiting for it for so long - what felt like years despite really only being within the last few weeks. He allowed himself to get too enticed too quickly but his hips wouldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted them to, the same way he’s already wiping sweat off his brow and feeling static under his skin from overstimulation but his cock is still pumping. He feels pride, aside from the discomfort, because he knows what he’s giving her isn’t much of _him_ anymore. It’s _their_ future. 

It’s gorgeous how her hips bounce with the rhythm of every foreign pump inside of her. She winces and cants upwards, but he’s still buried and as much as he wants to pull out, that just won’t do. It’s not time yet. 

They’re still feeling out their new home. Their new mother - having come directly from the father. 

The near-painful waves of overstimulating pleasure subside and the primal, _instinctive_ , continuous roll of his hips falters, and Billy finally thinks it time to pull out. He truly cannot contain the glee on his face when he does. 

Maxine’s pussy is a splattered mess of blood-red and blackened ooze, all the way up to her belly button. There’s trails of semen and fluid resembling ink flowing down between her asscheeks although the majority of it is still clinging to Billy’s cock in viscous, congealing strings leading back to the head. The ooze writhes, just slightly, as though it’s quite literally swimming with life. 

Billy sighs, now full of contentment with a highly foreign but sedated bliss overwhelming him. That felt _good_. Better than good. It was an _honor_. 

He slouches over almost without intention and rests his forehead on her belly. It kicks up at him ever so slightly, prompting a proud smile. She’s distended already and the bulging is only going to progress. Heather wasn’t much indication but he fed her well too, just the same though by slightly different means, so Billy didn’t get to witness her pregnant belly swell with their parasitic children. But Maxine… her bellybutton is an obvious outie already, the once pudgy but moreso flabby edges of her stomach are filling out and bulging in odd places, as if there’s a fully-developed being inside of her kicking its little feet, letting mommy and daddy know it’s ready to be let out. 

Billy sighs with a chest full of pride and places a kiss on the swelling heat of her stomach. He looks up at her. “Don’t you ever say I didn’t do anything for you, Max.” He whispers it like a dare he’s just _dying_ for her to challenge. “You're mine now. Don’t forget it.” True, but she isn’t _just_ his, she’s theirs. She’ll play brood mother and when it’s time, she’ll transfer it on by slightly different means to another kid dumb enough to trust her - _maybe that boy she’s always hanging around with…_

Billy toys with her entrance absentmindedly in a useless attempt to push back up inside of her what’s leaking out, but again, that doesn’t matter - she’s already full and growing into something new. Something better for the both of them. Billy swears he can feel something tugging at his fingertips and it makes him dizzy with paternal affection. 

With Maxine involved now, it’ll be much easier to get closer to that socially-maladjusted freak that wants to try and break up their family before it can even get off the ground. 

With the new Max’s help, that certainly won’t happen. 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell which part of Max I adore the most? It’s not NOT the freckles, I’ll tell you that. 
> 
> Point out any mistakes/feedback is appreciated etc


End file.
